A Visit from the Dark Master
by Soledad
Summary: A stand-alone story from the 'Pathways in the Dark' AU-series. Crossover with Angel and BtVS. WIP. Updated and moved back here.
1. Chapter 1: Living Conditions

**A VISIT FROM THE DARK MASTER**

**by Soledad**

**A ''Pathways in the Dark'' stand-alone story.**

**Re-write of the BtVS Season 5-opener ''Buffy vs. Dracula.**

INTRODUCTION 

Originally, I started this story because I found the actual episode so horribly stupid. More than stupid, actually – downright insulting for everyone who likes the vampire sub-genre of horror. And who else would watch Kindred: the Embraced, Angel or BtVS?

I mean, Dracula is a real icon in this genre, he could have been a dangerous adversary for at least half a season. All right, Joss Whedon had plans with Glory instead, fair enough – but why the whole stupid waste of an intriguing character then?

Besides, everyone who is familiar with White Wolf's roleplaying game ''Vampire – the Masquerade'' could have told Joss that Dracula, or, more accurately, Vlad Tepes, a Tzimisce diabolist, had been an Inconnu ever since 1848; and it is highly unlikely that he'd leave the magically hidden Hunedoara Caste, just to see a Slayer. In his over 600 years of existence he'd surely seen enough of them. Probably even killed some of them.

Also, the whole illusionist tricks that were shown in the episode (including the appearance of his caste out of thin air) were too surreal for the usual Buffy thing, that series lacking the sophisticated background that makes Kindred: the Embraced such an intriguing series.

So, I decided that the creature who visited Sunnydale was, in fact, _not_ Dracula, but some other vampire who posed as him. I thought about a Lasombra or Malkavian character because of the actor, Rudoph Martin's excellent make-up. Many people bashed him for his performance – I found it fascinating, especially considering the fact how badly the character was written. He maintained an aura of mystery and sex-appeal – actually, very Lasombra-like.

The next step was finding a matching Lasombra character from White Wolf's online-genealogy. Studying it, I detected a Lasombra scholar of Ancient Blood, a 5th generation Noddist with the name Nahir. No other facts of his life (or unlife) were noted, except that Lasombra himself was his grand-Sire.

Now, it's a game operative that Lasombra characters wield incredible mental powers – a fact that could explain why the Sunnydale people saw things that simply weren't there, like the ''big, honking castle'', as Riley Finn put it. Kindred vampires also are generally able to turn into wolves or birds, and the Sabbat (whom the Lasombra are the driving force of) sometimes possess Vicissitude – the ability of re-forming themselves into other shapes.

It was also decided that Buffy's ''Dracula'' is identical with the ancient (over a millennium old!) Lasombra Noddist, Nahir. But there still were two important questions to be answered – if I wanted the whole story to make any sense:

Firstly, why on Earth _did Nahir come to Sunnydale – to Buffy?_

Secondly, how could Spike had known him? (The real Vlad Tepes having become an Inconnu about the same time Spike was turned.)

After much thought, I believe to have found a solution for both of these questions. If you want to know it, however, you have to read the story. :)

Oh, and one more thing: I have been asked why I post these stories on the Kindred page when some of them are only remotely related to the show. Well, the reason to write the whole ''Pathways in the Dark'' series is to integrate Joss Whedon's characters in the context of Kindred. Though the main characters often belong to other series, the general background _is_ Kindred, and I didn't want the individual stories to be scattered all around ff.net.

So, enough babbled, on with the story!

**CHAPTER ONE: LIVING CONDITIONS**

**Disclaimer: see Introduction.**

**Rating: PG-13, for the mentioning of violence and m/m interaction.**

Sunnydale, 21st September 2000 

**Angel's old mansion, next to the cemetery**

Spike, formerly known as William the Bloody, recently dubbed as ''the toothless wonder'' by the Scooby Gang, felt content. More than content, in fact that he'd ever felt since the Initiative, a secret government organization, put a chip in his brain, making him unable to harass humans.

Sure, he was still unable to hunt, and that fact still bothered him to no end. But otherwise, his (un)life standard shot dramatically up during the summer he'd spent in Los Angeles.

With Angel, no less.

His estranged Sire.

Only that they weren't estranged anymore.

Originally, he hadn't planned to visit the Great Pouf at all. He fled Sunnydale after betraying the Slayer and his stupid friends to Adam, in the hope that Adam would help him to get rid of that sodding chip. But his plan backfired, as usual, and albeit he managed to save the butt of the Slayer , her Watcher, Red and that annoying whelp, he felt it better to leave town for awhile.

Of course, he managed to get himself into deep trouble after a mere week. Playing pool in that bloody demon night club, the ''Rabid Dog''. Having too big a mouth for his own good. Forgetting that he couldn't beat up a gang of filthy humans bikers any more. Not with that neat little peace of hardware in his skull.

He paid the price of his ignorance, big time. He got beaten up so badly, it was hard to bear, even for a vampire. _And he would have been group-raped before turned to dust if it weren't for Angel. That magnificent Pouf of his Sire, the saviour of lost souls (or soulless demons… whatever), who just happened to desecrate some slimy demon nearby._

Spike hadn't been so glad to see his Sire for a century.

And, in fact, the Angel who rescued him reminded him more of his old Sire than of the Slayer's tame pet from two years ago. The rage in what Angel killed three men in order to protect his once-favourite Childe was worth of Angelus. Not the insane creature Buffy unleashed into the world three years ago but the old Angelus. The one who gave young William eternal life through his Vitae. The one who taught him, loved him, often hurt and punished him – and abandoned him without a word after the curse.

Angel took him home that night, fed him his own Vitae, cleaned up his wounds – and loved him again, like he hadn't done it for a century. It was a night (and a day) of beautiful, violent passion and lots of blood-sharing, and Spike gave himself willingly into Angel's power again, accepting his Sire's ownership over himself in exchange of the renewing of family bonds. Now, three months later, he still hadn't regretted that decision.

Angel asked him to stay in L.A. for awhile. His Sire wanted to mend their seriously shattered relationship slowly and thoroughly, and Spike was all for that. So he stayed the whole summer, managed to rescue his Sire from some serious trouble – and even got paid for it like the other employees of Angel Investigations.

When the closeness became too much for him, his independent spirit screaming for more breathing room (figuratively speaking, of course), Angel gave him his permission to return to Sunnydale. He even suggested that Spike moved back to the abandoned mansion next to the cemetery, where they used to live with Dru... where Angel himself used to live after returning from Hell.

Spike found the idea splendid. The mansion was a beautiful place – and it could be reached from his old crypt through a 30-metres-walk in the sewers. Two years earlier Angel had actually bought the place, in order to have some sort of headquarters, should he need to visit town, and though it was sparsely furnitured, it was still a lot better than the crypt. Spike spent a considerable part of his savings (from L.A.) for heavy, dark velvet curtains, a new bed and a TV-set, making his new home vampire-friendly.

At the moment he only used the bedroom and the living-room – which still had Angel's sofa and that beautiful fireplace in it – but planned to do more in the near future. At least the phone was still working, so he could reach people during daytime without risking to get extra crispy (as that idiot Harris would have put).

Having reconnected with his Sire brought a change in his attitude as well. Not on the outside, of course – he still was his sardonic, cocky self and he didn't intend to change _that a bit – but finding his roots again made him rediscover his long-forgotten finer interests. He used to be a scholar in his mortal days – __and as a vampire, too, after Angelus got cursed – and there were so many things to learn, after a century and a half of existence._

During his time in L.A. he not only managed to get an up-to-date laptop (stolen it, actually, from the trashed home of a demon victim who wouldn't have any use of it anymore), but Oz, who let him crash in his place, taught him the fine art of hacking. Considering the fact that the young werewolf was a professional hacker and Spike himself a quick study, it was not surprising how good he became at it in a short time. Now all he needed was an Internet connection – which he quickly got, thank to his excellent contacts among the undead – and a whole world opened up before him.

No, he wasn't as old-fashioned as Angel. Spike always went with the time, tried out every new thing, thank his insatiable curiosity and hyperactive nature, and the Net was the ideal thing for him to learn, to gather information, to find interesting people – and still keep his incognito. The majority of those he chatted with online probably thought he was some college professor, with an unusually strong interest for everything that is preternatural. Most of them wouldn't even thing that he was a vampire.

But there were also a few who knew, of course. There were websites, constructed by and meant for vampires, disguised as fantasy author's harmless databases, and only who knew the secret code could connect the real thing behind them. Spike knew it, of course, having maintained good contacts to the Nosferatu, the best information merchants of undead society. A small colony of them, half a dozen people, even lived in the basement of the mansion, which was fine with Spike. They didn't bother him and he didn't bother them.

He didn't even see them, except Four-Eyes, their scholar and computer wizard, who helped him to connect to all important websites, in exchange of leaving them alone. It was a handy arrangement. Besides, he still spent a lot of time in his old crypt, not wanting the Scoobies – and especially the Slayer – to know about his improved living conditions.

So, it's understandable that he was a bit surprised when – shortly after sunset – there was a discreet knock on the front door. No one was supposed to know that he moved in, except the Nosferatu, and they always came trough the basement stairs when they wanted t o talk to him, which was extremely rare anyway.

Curious, he went to the door and opened it a crack. A tall, slender man stood outside, clad in black leather just like Spike himself, his long, dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. A rather large carry-on in his hand and a sleek black car parked next to the cemetery wall revealed that he wasn't from here.

Spike studied the beautiful, disturbingly familiar face for a moment. The man was a vampire, for sure, and a very old one, too. The power radiating from him spoke of extreme age, in spite of his youthful appearance.

The blue eyes – not so vibrant as his own but darker, more greyish – looked back at him with slight amusement.

"Don't recognize me anymore, young William?" the newcomer asked him in a soft, seductive voice. "I am really hurt."

That voice finally gave him away, no matter how much his appearance might have changed during the last century. It was a voice of incredible wisdom and authority that could not have been mistaken to anyone else's.

"Master Nahir!" Spike whispered in awe and with outmost respect, and bent his knee in a proper greeting, not caring that anyone could see him through the open door.

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End note:**

In case you are interested, the Nosferatu colony is introduced properly in my other story, ''The Return of Forrest Gates''. It's posted here, on this site, and the individual characters are even ''cast'' – i.e. they are given certain actor's faces for better visuals.


	2. Chapter 2: Reunion

**A VISIT FROM THE DARK MASTER**

**by Soledad**

**A ''Pathways in the Dark'' stand-alone story.**

**Re-write of the BtVS Season 5-opener ''Buffy vs. Dracula.**

**Disclaimer: see Introduction.**

**Rating: PG-13, for the mentioning of m/m interaction.**

**Author's notes:**

I gave the character Nahir the civilian name of the excellent actor who portrayed Dracula in the episode. Spike's family name (Blake) is my own choice, for no particular reason. Spike's academic career is my take on him, too. In the series is only mentioned that he used to be a poet.

Anatole is a White Wolf character, too. The description of him is a slight alteration of what I've found in one of the White Wolfe sites. I don't remember any more which one.

CHAPTER TWO: REUNION 

There weren't many people on this planet whom Spike would truly and thoroughly respect. His own Sire certainly didn't belong to them. Most of them he'd met during his mortal days and they were gone a century ago or even longer: one or two professors at Cambridge; a scholarly nun; an illiterate but profoundly wise mother of eight kids in London where he'd grown up. Nahir was the only one still around – the only one who'd known him both as a mortal and as a vampire.

At the time they first met, Nahir wore the name Rudolph Martin and was a history professor at Cambridge University, his main expertise being Ancient Carthage – accidentally a topic young William Blake had a strong interest for. Professor Martin supported the promising young student every possible way while William wrote his thesis about Carthage – not about the Punic Wars or the fall of the city but about its history and culture. After finishing his thesis, William started writing the book about his favourite topic. It went rather well, until he made a visit to London, met Cecily and fell in love, starting to write bad salon poetry instead.

They hadn't seen each other for decades after William had been turned. Professor Martin left Cambridge, it was told, in order to do some research about Dacia – a culture that, too, fell victim to Ancient Rome and its Ventrue and Toreador rulers. The latter was a small detail William did not know back then, of course.

Then, shortly after Angelus got cursed, they ran into each other in Romania, and William, then called Spike already, finally understood how his former professor could have known Ancient Carthage so thoroughly and intimately.

It wasn't academic knowledge alone.

He saw it with his very eyes.

Professor Martin's true name was Nahir, and he was a close friend of Aurelius himself – the high priest of a cult of healers in Ancient Carthage, whom the vampiric Order Spike's bloodline belonged to, was called after. Nahir was the only one of the Carthaginian Elders of the Order who survived the fall of the city.

He was also one of those who re-founded the Order.

Nahir, like Aurelius himself, belonged to Clan Lasombra – a Clan that had been instantly associated with the Sabbat, ever since the first Anarch revolt – but he, personally, was older than the Sabbat, just like the Order itself had been. Nahir was a scholar, a student and interpreter of the Book of Nod, the Holy Script of vampiric culture. He travelled around the globe, visited diggings and ancient libraries, seeking out for fragments of that lost Book and for any possible details about the history and the future of his undead species.

When the Order of Aurelius turned to dark arts, inventing the whole Antediluvian Cult, with the goal to bring the Old Rulers back to Earth, Nahir, who greatly disagreed with their insane goal, left the Order and continued his studies alone. After all, he had eternity to learn – and to teach. He had looked for a student like William for a long, long time – one who he could share his knowledge and his mission with. He was devastated when William disappeared.

At the time when they ran into each other again, Spike had become a very different person from his shy mortal self: a cruel and vicious creature who paid back humankind horribly for the humiliations he had to endure in his Warm years. Nahir saw with regret that almost nothing was left from his once prize pupil – just his intelligence and curiosity.

If he'd found William a few weeks before or later, he might not have been able to reach him. But at that particular time, mere days after Angelus got cursed and left his family, and a furious and grieving Darla abandoned them, too, both fledglings were confused and vulnerable. Without guidance and a strong hand to rule them, they'd have been destroyed in no time. Romania was a cruel place for neonates.

So, Nahir took them under his wings, went hunting with them, taught them the once proud traditions of their now evil Order, the prophecies of the end of the world and deep secrets not even the current Master of the Order had known. He fed them his own Vitae to establish control over them – over Drusilla's madness and William's strong, independent will, one of the few advantages that becoming a vampire added to his character – and shared his bed with them to bind them even stronger to himself.

He never forced them like Angelus used to do. He didn't need it. Neither of them could resist his seductive charms, his mesmerizing powers, the incredible strength of his ancient spirit. He got Drusilla somewhat balanced and got William to continue and finish his book and his wonderful epic poems about Ancient Carthage. When the young vampire was done and started getting restless again, Nahir finally let them go their own ways, knowing there was nothing else he could do for them. They reached maturity and were on their own now. William's excellent work, however, took with him to find a safe place for it in a library.

All this happened nearly a century ago. They hadn't seen each other ever since. And now, the ancient one was standing on Spike's doorstep, smiling slightly at his former student, foster Childe and lover, waiting to be invited in.

Spike rose again and gulped. Hard.

''Master Nahir'', he repeated, even more respectful. ''It has been a long time.''

''Too long'', Nahir agreed. ''By the way, I'm wearing my old disguise again, posing as the progeny of your old college professor.''

''So, it's Rudolph Martin, once again?'' Spike asked with a smile. ''Just like old times, isn't it? Are you still an historian and an archeologist?''

Nahir shrugged. ''Easier than make up new names and occupations every couple of decades. Now, are you going to invite me in or am I supposed to wait for the sunrise out here?''

If vampires could blush, Spike would have turned beet red.

''My apologies, Master…'', he murmured in shame. ''The surprise… please, enter. Honour my humble haven with your presence.''

Giles would have choked on his tea hearing the polite words and the educated Oxford accent coming from Spike's mouth. But again, not even the Watchers' Council knew that William Blake had been an English gentleman once. A penniless one, for sure, but that didn't say anything about his education.

Nahir entered and took an interested look around the huge, almost empty living room.

''Impressive'', he judged. ''I'd never have thought you had such an old-fashioned taste… and so much style. You used to be more of a rebel after your Embrace.''

''I haven't been Embraced, I have been _turned'', Spike corrected him bitterly, '' and this is actually Angelus' liar. I'm just using it. Only the stuff from the 21st century belongs to me.''_

Nahir didn't seem surprised.

''I've heard that you've submitted to your Sire again'', to Spike's baffled look he added. ''I live in L.A., actually; have been there for a couple of years by now, and Angelus is being closely watched by our kind.''

''Why?'' Spike asked with a frown.

''He's been Chosen to play an important rôle in the upcoming big fight'', Nahir answered with a sigh. ''This time, the stakes are really high. This won't be your average, domestic Apocalypse the current Slayer routinely beats... albeit stopping the Harvest and destroying the Master four years ago delayed the plans of the Dark Side sufficiently. But there are even bigger evils in coming.''

''When?''

''I can't tell the precise date. The prophecies are confusing, and we still need some ancient scrolls for further studies. But as far as I can interpret Anatole's mumblings, we might have a decade, tops. Maybe even less. We have to prepare ourselves, for this is a fight the Kine aren't up to.''

Spike nodded. Anatole, the mad Malkavian prophet had been a know figure of vampiric society for nine hundred years. Led down strange paths by his dreams, Anatole committed diablerie on other vampires in an attempt to absorb their insights. Many of his visions concerned Gehenna, and he became a harbinger of the Final Nights and the mouthpiece of the demon Kupala, incorporating the demon's perverse omens and directives into his utterances. So, when Anatole started telling his profound insights into the coming darkness of Gehenna, people listened in horror, because he know what he was speaking about.

''So what's your plan?'' the younger vampire asked, falling back to his usual speech patterns. '''Cuz I doubt that you came to Sunnydale for seeing' me.''

''And you're absolutely right'', the ancient one agreed. ''Not that I'd mind seeing you again'', he added with a slow, seductive smile and cupped Spike's face in a slender hand. ''You're still beautiful, although I hate your hair.''

He raised his other hand, extended a talon and made a small cut on Spike's flawless face, right above the prominent cheekbone; then he leant close and lapped at the small string of blood like a sleek, dark cat, closing the tiny wound again.

''And you taste every bit as sweet as I remember, my prize pupil'', he added, purring in delight.

Spike trembled uncontrollably under the ancient one's expert touch. No one could resist Nahir's seductive charms – at least not the ones with sensitivity and true passion in their hearts. And even the other ones would have a hard time.

''M... Master'', he murmured defensively, ''I… I can't. I'm Blood Bound to my Sire… again.''

''My rights override his'', Nahir replied softly, entwining the long fingers of his free hand with the short, bleached looks of the younger one. ''I am the very Eldest of our Order… I have ownership over every single one of the Line of Aurelius… including Angelus himself _and all his progeny.''_

He kissed Spike gently on the lips, then lifted his chin and looked into those disturbed, vibrant-blue eyes. ''I won't force you, Childe.''

''You don't need to force anyone'', Spike replied smiling, rubbing himself against the ancient one like a cat in the heat. ''You never have. You always reached your goals through charm – every single one of them.''

Nahir shrugged, laughing softly, and let him go.

''Well, I'm a Lasombra, after all… it's in our Blood. Now… do you have a proper bath in this mansion?''

''A… bath?'' Spike replied in surprise. Nahir gave him a disapproving look.

''Have you forgotten everything I've taught you? How am I supposed to perform the Cleansing Ritual before exercising my rightful _Claim_ over you?''

A Cleansing Ritual! Despite his cynical attitude towards tradition, Spike couldn't help but tremble in anticipation from the mere thought. He hadn't participated in a Cleansing Ritual ever since Nahir freed him and Drusilla and let them go their own ways. This was an ancient custom followed by the Eldest of their Order only, involving long-forgotten massage techniques and powerful aphrodisiacs, and the few younger ones who ever had been subjected to it never forgot it again.

''Oh yeah, Master'', he answered eagerly, already starting to show Nahir the way, ''we have a nice, comfy bath over there. Wanna see it?''

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End note:**

Some intricacies of vampiric culture are my own invention. The Cleansing Ceremony is one of them. Unfortunately, due to the new rules, you aren't going to witness it. But I might put up an extended version on my own website later. g


	3. Chapter 3: First Encounter

**A VISIT FROM THE DARK MASTER**

**by Soledad**

**A ''Pathways in the Dark'' stand-alone story.**

**Re-write of the BtVS Season 5-opener ''Buffy vs. Dracula.**

**Disclaimer: The Three Sisters are originally from the TV episode, but I modified them, based on the three witches from "Charmed".**

**Rating: PG-13, for violence.**

**Author's note:** Some of the dialogue is taken directly from the TV episode. The rest is based on information found on various Lasombra-websites.

**CHAPTER THREE: FIRST ENCOUNTER**

Sunnydale, 22nd September 2000 

**Angel's old mansion, next to the cemetery**

"What do you think?" Nahir turned around expectantly.

His guise was perfect: black slacks, boots and waistcoat, a blood-red silk shirt, complete with a long back cape. His face chalk white, his dark hair falling freely over his collar, barely reaching his shoulders, his fangs elongated, but true face still under tight control.

The Three Sisters – once three powerful mortal witches whom he had turned in a single night – gave enthusiastic nods, their golden eyes burning.

"You could star in any Dracula movie, Master," Prudence, the eldest said with appreciation. "_If Lasombra showed up on film at all, that is."_

"Yeah, the only thing I'll always regret about my unlife," Phoebe, the youngest, added. "You have Embraced us in our best possible shape, and nobody will ever see it. Nobody from the movie industry, I mean."

Spike shook his head, grinning. "So, you truly want to go with the old 'Vlad the Impaler' routine? Why?"

Nahir shrugged. "Well, for one thing, he's famous."

"Famous!" Spike snorted. "Two-third of his fame is actually based on _your_ abilities, _your achievements – and the rest is just folklore. The true Vlad Tepes may be a venerable Inconnu now, but in his active days he was nothing but a stupid and brutal monster."_

"So were you," Nahir pointed out. "And you didn't even have the excuse of being Tzimisce."

"I thought Tzimisce were valorous allies," Spike remarked, lighting a cigarette.

"And venomous rivals, often simultaneously," Nahir replied. "Above that they are despicable, inhuman, idiotic, monstrous and not very nice either. I don't even trust the Old Clan types, and they're supposed to be on our side."

"Which raises the question, of course, just which side _is_ ours," Spike riposted. "I'm not into that mafia don game the Camarilla types like to play so much, though I guess Angelus would have his grand old time, should he actually be elected as the Prince of L.A."

"I think we could be sure that he would," Nahir said. "And that would be fortunate, too. The Camarilla has its unquestionable advantages."

"Yeah, it's acceptable, if you're talking about a Kine institution," Spike shrugged nonchalantly. "If you're a blood-sucking devil of the night, though, why hide from those upon whom you prey?"

"Because it can save you from the inconvenience of being caught by secret military organizations that put little pieces of hardware into your skull, perhaps?" Page, the middle one of the Tree Sisters asked mildly.

"Stop bickering, Childer," Nahir ordered with a frown. I need you to focus – all of you. This is the most important thing in the last century or so; if we fail now, the consequences can't be foreseen."

"I still don't understand what you need Buffy for," Spike said.

"I don't need Buffy Summers personally," Nahir fought his impatience. "I need a Slayer. An exceptionally strong one. I'd prefer Faith, she'd be a lot more apt to our goals, but we can't break her out of prison, not without help. Time and secrecy are important factors here."

"The Hunter who becomes one with her prey shall keep the Hellgate from opening and the Old Ones from awakening," Prudence quoted. "Anatole's visions don't tell us the exact date, but their urgency clearly states that the time is near. The Master has to take great risks – and it's our job to help him."

"All right, all right, I'll do what I can," Spike flailed his arms, agitated. "In times like these it becomes clear for me why I've become an Anarch."

"You can rebel later all you want," Nahir commented dryly. "But I count on you in this thing, William. Do not disappoint me."

His voice was silky-dangerous now, and Spike had the common sense to shut up and obey. Doing otherwise would have earned him a fate much worse than the cruelest beating he'd ever received from Angelus as a fledgling. Nahir was not just a Lasombra – which was bad enough as Sabbat go – he was a Lasombra antitribu, who supported the Camarilla, without being formally a part of it. He worked with Tremere warlocks, partially overcoming the hereditary Lasombra weakness of not showing up in a mirror or on film. It was very well possible that the Three Sisters, too, would reach this state in a few centuries. So Phoebe might get her wish after all.

"Yes, Master," Spike said loudly, his tone just petulant enough to sound less than eager.

"Good. For a while you'll have to return to your crypt, as the Slayer's little friends will undoubtedly turn to you for information about Dracula. You do know what you have to tell them…?" It wasn't really a question.

"Of course," Spike replied indignantly. Nahir nodded.

"Very well. My daughters will do a few… improvements on this mansion; mostly illusions, we don't really need to build a castle here overnight. I assume the Nosferatu will cooperate."

"They know what's at stake here," Page said quietly. "I've spoken to them last night. They'll help us."

"In that case," Nahir looked at Spike," show me the Slayer's hunting ground."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They watched from safe distance as the seemingly fragile blonde fought with a big hunk of a vampire.

"She is on the roll tonight," Spike remarked in a voice too low even for the Slayer's enhanced senses to hear. Nahir nodded contently.

"She plays with her prey like a cat plays with the mouse. She has grown fond of the killing. Does she come out hunting every night?"

"Sometimes more than just once," Spike said. "She has grown into a real predator. She doesn't hunt for keeping the Kine safe any longer. She hunts because she enjoys the hunt. Because she _needs_ it."

"They all reach this level sooner or later," Nahir replied calmly; "assuming, they live long enough. Few of them do, though."

"Creatures like you and I see that they don't," Spike riposted, and Nahir nodded again.

"Of course. We can't allow the Slayer to outgrow her destiny, or she would learn to find us and destroy us like she does with the idiotic minions of the Caitiff… or the Sabbat."

"Could she learn to do that?" Spike asked uncomfortably, watching the Slayer's deadly dance with the newly awakened minion.

The guy had no chance, obviously. Buffy let him have the one or other move, though she could have defended every single one of them. It was very clear that she enjoyed the fight enormously, without a moment of doubt of its outcome.

"She could and she will," Nahir answered, "just like that other Slayer you killed in New York had, the black woman. She was the most dangerous one in the last three hundred years – until the current one."

"So, either you succeed to turn Buffy, or we'll have to kill her?" Spike asked with a frown. Angelus would not like these choices. Neither of them. Nahir shook his head.

"On the contrary. We'll have to support her, whether I succeed or not. Even if I fail, she'll be needed in the upcoming big fight. We can't face the Apocalypse with a novice Slayer."

Spike thought about that for a moment. As much as he trusted Nahir's uncanny abilities, Buffy was anything but predictable – and she was stronger than any Slayer Spike had met in his 150 years of existence, save perhaps Faith.

"You are taking a great risk, Master," he finally said.

"I do," Nahir replied, "but there's too mach at stake to do otherwise. Oh… she has dusted the minion. That was quick. Now watch!"

Drawing the Living Darkness around himself like a second cape, he seemingly turned into mist, only to solidify again behind the Slayer who was tucking the stake in the waistband of her pants with a frighteningly satisfied smile.

"Very impressive hunt," Nahir said in a low voice, full of admiration. Spike couldn't decide whether it was genuine or faked. "Such power…."

Buffy whirled around, grabbing the stake again, still running high on adrenaline.

"That was no hunt," she replied flippantly. "That was just my daily job." Seeing the unknown vampire closing, she adjusted the stake in her hand. "Care to step up for some overtime?"

Nahir gave her an amused look. So, the Slayer was about to become over-confident? That could be a dangerous thing – for her."

"We are not going to fight," he told her, keeping up the clichéd Dracula manners. The Kine were so easy to manipulate. Even those who should know better.

Just as he had expected, Buffy switched to the equally clichéd threats.

"Do you know what the Slayer is?" she asked silkily.

Nahir caught her eyes, extending his ancient will over her young, inexperienced and quite superficious mind.

"Do _you_?" he replied slowly, hypnotically.

She didn't. Obviously. One vision quest with her Watcher, one meeting with the First Slayer – a creature just as savage and merciless and insane as any Malkavian – was way too little to understand the dark powers given to her by warlocks more powerful than any other sorcerers who ever tread the Earth afterwards.

Nahir was careful not to reveal more than a shadowy hint of the truth, but she was shaking already nevertheless. The girl might not be very smart, but her instincts worked flawlessly. In fact, they were better developed and more finely honed than any other Slayer's he had met – and killed – during his long life.

"Who… who are you?" she stammered.

Nahir let her mind go. It would have been very dangerous to allow her to guess more right now – for both of them. It was time to return to his ridiculous disguise.

"I apologize," he said with a polite nod; "I assumed you knew. I am Dracula.

Her eyes darkened with anger, as if she had been cheated – which, in a sense, she was, of course.

"Get out!" she hissed angrily.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4: Dance of Enchantment

**A VISIT FROM THE DARK MASTER**

**by Soledad**

**A ''Pathways in the Dark'' stand-alone story.**

**Re-write of the BtVS Season 5-opener ''Buffy vs. Dracula.**

**Disclaimer: See Introduction.**

**Rating: PG-13, for violence.**

**Author's note: Most of the dialogue is taken directly from the TV episode. The rest is based on information found on various Lasombra-websites.**

Durga Syn (progeny of Vladovos) is a 6th gen. Ravnos character, said to be a counselor to Dracula. I chose to make him Nahir's associate rather than that of the actual Vlad Tepes. Oh, and there actually is a Ravnos character of unknown generation called Zander.

**CHAPTER FOUR: DANCE OF ENCHANTMENT**

Sunnydale, 22nd September 2000 

**The cemetery**

The reaction of the Slayer surprised Nahir, but for a moment he was distracted by a mental warning from Spike. Their blood-sharing from the previous day created a temporary mental bond between them – which worked excellently.

[Watch out, Master, the witch and the whelp are coming!]

He knew, of course who was meant. Spike had given him a detailed – and not very flattering – introduction to the Slayer's little group. The girl and the youngster were no threat for him, but he had to divide his attention between them and the Slayer, and that interfered with his plans at the moment.

He prepared to wield the Living Darkness again, while waiting for the information he'd just given the girl to sink in. Apparently, when it came to thinking, this Slayer was a little slow.

"So let me get this straight," she said. "You're... Dracula, the guy, the Count?"

"I am," Nahir replied, amused. Though he had the feeling the real Vlad Tepes would nod appreciate a description like this. The Inconnu had always been more than a little behind their time. Vlad himself had been lurking around in Hunedoara Castle since 1848, for which Nahir was grateful. It have him plenty of chance to use this disguise and to keep his true identity secret.

"And you're sure this isn't just some fanboy thing?" the Slayer asked in suspicion. "'Cause I've fought more than a couple pimply, overweight vamps that called themselves Lestat."

Nahir felt annoyance interfering with his concentration. That Anne Rice person had caused more harm the undead society than a dozen Slayers. And all that because an insane Ravnos with a sick sense of humour thought it was a good idea to tell her some utterly ridiculous stories. An idiot of Weak Blood, who, fortunately, won't be able to cause any more trouble. Nahir would be eternally thankful his only Ravnos associate, Durga Syn, for eliminating this particular nuisance.

"You know who I am," he said, mastering his impatience with some effort, none of which was visible for her. "And I would know without question that you are Buffy Summers."

That got her attention. She actually seemed pleased, just as he had expected. Mortal girls of her age were so predictable – and shallow.

"You've heard of me?" she asked in surprise.

Naturally," he replied with grave respect he didn't really feel. "You're known throughout the world."

Of course she was. The undead society kept track of the current Slayer all the time. Doing otherwise would have been foolish and dangerous. But it was better to let her believe she was famous for her own deeds. Which, to a certain extent, she actually was. Having stopped the Harvest four years ago was an important event for vampires as well.

"Nah," she said, eyes wide, self-conscious little smile playing around brightly painted lips that made her look unsuitably older than she was. "_Really_?"

Nahir allowed himself a slightly raised eyebrow. Strictly speaking it didn't match the expressionless Dracula image, but his natural sarcasm got the better of him. Dealing with such young creatures could be tiring sometimes.

"Why else would I come here – for the sun?" he asked dryly. "I came to meet the renowned killer."

That blunt word took her visibly aback. "Yeah, I prefer the term Slayer," she said indignantly. "You know, killer just sounds so..."

Nahir raised another eyebrow. "Naked?" he asked, amused. He'd never expect from a Slayer who obviously enjoyed the killing so much to be this… sensitive about semantics."

"Like I paint clowns or something," she waved off, annoyed that her elated calling was compared with common crimes. "I'm the good guy here, remember?"

"Perhaps." Nahir was not going to debate good and bad with her. Not now. Not before she had become one of his kindred. "But your power is rooted in darkness. You must feel it."

"No!" she shouted, angry and confused, grasping for the only thing she truly understood: violence. "You know what I feel? Bold!"

Nahir was prepared for the stake, reading her primal emotions easily. He wielded his Living Darkness, distracting her mind to see nothing but black mist as she hit the place where he had stood seconds before with the stake. Twice. Nahir evaded both times without any effort.

"Okay, that's cheating," she declared angrily, looking around in vain to find him, though he stood directly in front of her, about two meters afar, wrapped in darkness safely.

[Master,] Spike warned again, [they're here!]

Indeed, he could see the red-haired girl and the clumsy young man in that ridiculous shirt reaching them. Now, it would be interesting to see their reaction – especially that of the girl. She radiated some real power and was apparently oblivious of her true strength.

Nahir shook off his mantle of shadow and waited.

The young man noticed him first, staring with open mouth for a moment – then bursting out in laughter.

"Nice! Look who's got a bad case of Dark Prince envy," he chuckled.

Nahir withstood the urge to kill him on the spot. The whelp was a lot worse than Spike had described. How could an obvious idiot like this one survive at the Hellmouth? The Slayer had only been here for the last four years, after all. _Fools truly must have a guardian angel_, he decided.

"I have no interest in you," the ancient vampire said, which was the complete, utter truth. "Leave us."

No, he was not interested in fools. In fact, he had no _tolerance_ for fools, as a young Ravnos called Zander (were names really omens as the Ancient Romans thought?) had t learn on the hard way. It had been an extremely painful experience, after which said young vampire walked – _crept_ would be more accurate – out to meet the Sun voluntarily.

A common trait of fools seemed to be, however, that they never knew when to shut up.

"No, we're not going to leave you," the mortal whelp replied, completely oblivious of the fact how near he had come to an extremely unpleasant death. "And where'd you get that accent, Sesame Street? Von, two, three... three victims. Mwah, hahahhaha!"

Now Nahir was truly annoyed, and had he not kept the bigger picture in mind, he'd have torn the whelp in bloody pieces before the Slayer realized what was happening. Though in one point he had to agree – the fake accent was truly ridiculous. Still he stuck with it as long as he kept this disguise. Modern media were a powerful tool, and Dracula movies too well-known to ignore this particular detail.

Buffy's instincts told her that the vampire in front of them was an old and powerful one. She was sure she could eventually stake him (a delusion not entirely her fault, for how could she know anything about the real powers of undead society?) but not with her helpless friends in the way. Xander was a liability on an average patrol, and she would not risk his life now.

"Xander," she warned him seriously, " watch your mouth. I'm petty sure that's Dracula."

The speed with which the tall, big-boned young man ran to hide behind the petite blonde way pitiful. Nahir felt utterly disgusted. No wonder that neonates were so worthless when _this_ was the flock their Sires could choose from.

"Really?" the whelp babbled. "Sorry, man, I was just joking around…"

Nahir had had enough. He would deal with the red-haired with later. After he had thought of something… creative for the annoying whelp. Something Spike would benefit from.

"This is not the time," he told the Slayer. "I'll see you soon…"

With that, he turned into a bat and –sweeping down at their head which made both girls shriek in horror, protecting their hair with their arms – swung back again, vanishing in the darkness.

Watching the whole scene, Spike grinned evilly from ear to ear in the background. Seeing Master Nahir in action was always a delight, and seeing Xander almost wetting himself even more so. It made up for some of the humiliation he'd had to endure from the whelp since he got chipped.

"Oh, you'll get more compensation before we are done," purred Nahir, drawing a talon along his throat and lapping up the crimson tail of blood before licking the scratch closed again. "I can give him you as a bed-warmer, a slave or a food-source – whatever you want."

Spike, shivering under the seductive touch of the Master, almost got turned off by the mere idea of Xander in his bed. Caine, not even _he_ was that desperate (especially after the big reconciliation with Angel), and he could _not_ imagine the boy being 'moist and delicious' as Xander had stated once – in a short attack of insanity, because why would anyone in their right mind say something like that to a vampire, even to a chipped one? A slave or a food source sounded nice, though…

"Nah," he replied after some thought, "it won't work. Someone would notice: the Slayer, the Watcher, Red – or Anyanka. And you won't stay here to protect me forever."

"Anyanka?" Nahir repeated in surprise. "So, the Anya the whelp lives with is actually a thousand-year-old vengeance demon? He's got more balls than I'd given him credit for."

"Well, a _former_ vengeance demon," Spike said. "She's human now. Lost all her powers and stuff. Just like meself."

"She might have lost her powers," Nahir replied in all seriousness, "but not her nature. Her nature was what made her to a vengeance demon in the first place. D'Hoffryn never recruits people who don't have the matching urges already."

"The more reason for me to stay away from the whelp," Spike pointed out. "Anya and I get along well enough, but I don't want to make her mad at me. "I've enough problems with other local demons as it is."

"Leave Anyanka to me," Nahir said. "I've known her for some three hundred years… well, my Dracula alter ego has."

"That won't make her willing to share," Spike said. "She's extremely possessive. Nor do I want to touch the whelp in any way – well, except with my fangs  probably, which I can't do right now."

"You can, if he offers voluntarily," Nahir answered. "It's their fear and pain that sets the chip off, not the Kiss itself."

"He'll never do that, unless you enthrall or Dominate him," Spike shook his head. "And that would cripple him just as much as the bloody chip cripples me. I do hate the whelp, but not _that_ much."

"Well then, what about a temporary arrangement?" Nahir asked. "Just for the time of my presence here. The others will be distracted enough – and you can't live on animal blood alone, you know that."

"I don't," Spike shrugged. "There are always the sorted-out blood packs of the hospital… or Willie's."

Nahir shook his head. "They help for a while, but they are not enough. You need fresh blood, from the source, if you don't want to lose your strength and wither to your Final Death. And since you can't hunt, you need cattle."

The brutal Sabbat term considering mortals awoke some of the old blood lust in Spike's heart. He licked his lips involuntarily. Nahir smiled.

"One day you'll have to learn the proper Kindred way of hunting – a hard lesson for a True Undead, but not beyond your abilities. Unfortunately, right now I don't have months at my disposal to teach you; nor have you enough Lasombra blood in you to do it my way. Let's return to the mansion now. I'll feed you some of my Vitae again, for you are still too weak for my taste; then we can plan our next step."

Spike followed him eagerly, in the reasonable hope of getting laid afterwards, either by the Master himself or by one of the three Lasombra witches. Unlife, once again, started to become what it should be, and for the first time in weeks, he felt truly content.

TBC


End file.
